


Pining

by orphan_account



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Jealousy, M/M, Pining, Unrequited Love, or a square actually, ringo is a jealous fucker and so is john so, this is just a big love triangle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-02-24 21:05:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2596430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was horribly obvious and Ringo wasn’t sure if everyone was just incredibly oblivious or they simply chose to ignore it. Either way, Ringo saw it and he was absolutely disgusted by it.</p><p>How could they be so carefree? Did they not care about what their little fling could potentially do to the band? It could be the end of the Beatles, and it’d be the two headmen’s faults!</p><p>Ringo watched from his drum kit as the lovebirds whispered to each other across their guitars, giggles escaping the younger one’s lips every now and then. John watched in awe as Paul covered his mouth as he giggled softly. Ringo noticed that John always looked at Paul like he was absolutely in love with him, and it pissed Ringo off.</p><p>or: Ringo is a jealous little shit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pining

**Author's Note:**

> I worked on this for a long time, sadly. It's loosely based off a fic I read on LiveJournal.

It was horribly obvious and Ringo wasn’t sure if everyone was just incredibly oblivious or they simply chose to ignore it. Either way, Ringo saw it and he was absolutely disgusted by it.

How could they be so carefree? Did they not care about what their little fling could potentially do to the band? It could be the end of the Beatles, and it’d be the two headmen’s faults!

Ringo watched from his drum kit as the lovebirds whispered to each other across their guitars, giggles escaping the younger one’s lips every now and then. John watched in awe as Paul covered his mouth as he giggled softly. Ringo noticed that John always looked at Paul like he was absolutely in love with him, and it pissed Ringo off.

Ringo wanted to ask them to shut the fuck up already, and that they were taking up band time with their endless flirting. They could be in love on their own time. Right now, it was about the band and getting this album bashed out.

But, he kept his mouth shut like everyone else.

“You’re staring pretty hard there, Ringo,” he heard George say from next to him. Ringo turned his head and saw George standing over him with a smirk on his face.

“Shut up, Harrison,” Ringo snarled. “I’m busy trying to be angry, and you’re distracting me.”

“What are you angry about? Tell me it isn’t about the boyfriends,” George said, slight disappointment in hisvoice, but Ringo didn’t care. George was full of shit trying to act like he didn’t give a fuck about John and Paul flirting it up.

“Well, it is,” Ringo said. “How can they sit and act like it’s nothing when they could ruin the band?”

“How can it ruin the band?”

“The press is going to notice, George. They’re going to notice that Paul and John are always staring at each other and touching all the time, and then that’s it. That’s the end of the Beatles,” Ringo said.

“Paul and John aren’t dumb, you know. They know when to tone it down. Session time is probably all they’ve got to be close to each other. Just leave it be. They’re not bothering us, they’re just in love. Sometimes people fall in love with someone they’re not supposed to,” George said, his voice gentle. He laid a hand on Ringo’s shoulder. Ringo could see something change in George’s eyes, but didn’t take much notice to it. There was always something going on with George, he decided to leave it alone.

Ringo looked back to John and Paul, who were now writing lyrics together, theirs head both facing the same paper. Their cheeks were brushing, and Ringo could see blushes on both of their faces.

“How can John go for  _him_?” Ringo whispered to himself.

George’s hand left his shoulder, and George said, “I see. You’re not worried about the band. You’re _jealous_.”

Ringo turned to George, and saw that, again, George’s eyes had changed. Ringo’s face was flushed, and he opened his mouth to speak.

George stopped him, “Don’t even try to defend yourself, Richie. You’re pining over John and that’s what this is all about, isn’t it?”

Ringo glared at him, and then said roughly, “Fuck you, George.”

Hurt flashed over George’s face, but it was quickly covered with a scowl. “I just hope you know that he’ll never want you.”

And with that, George walked back over to his guitar and picked at the strings.

-

Ringo sighed under his breath as John and Paul stared at each other for far too long. And during an interview for Christ’s sake! The bird that was interviewing them had asked John some question about life in Liverpool, and  _of course,_  Paul had to join in because he’d been “mates with John for a long time while we’d been in Liverpool”.

 _Fuck off._ Ringo thought. George had known John, too, when they were in Liverpool, but he didn’t go around cutting into questions that were directed toward John. No, George had some fucking decency. Ringo was sure that ‘decent’ wasn’t in Paul’s vocabulary, especially when it came to John.

It had been two weeks since George had found out about Ringo’s crush and Ringo had gone off on him. There’d been some tension between them. Ringo was sure that George was pretty shaken up about Ringo being a dick toward him. Ringo was usually so nice to everyone, especially George. George was his best mate in the band, and the fact that he would act so shitty to him just because he was pining over some stupid man made him disappointed in himself.

Ringo looked over at George, and saw that he was looking at Paul and John. Of course he was, they were always the center of attention. It wasn’t their fault; it had just always been that way. Ringo was sure that John loved it, though. John loved having all eyes on him, and Ringo was more than happy to give him that attention. He’d do anything to make John happy.

But the problem was, so would Paul. Paul’s eyes were always on John, on every aspect of that bloody perfect man. Perhaps that was the attention that John craved for most.

It wasn’t like Ringo hadn’t  _tried_  to be with John, because, God, had he tried. He’d thought John was very attractive from the first time he saw him; so of course, he’d made subtle hints that he was interested. He’d even flirted like mad, but John always seemed oblivious to Ringo’s attempts. After months and months of futile attempts, Ringo gave up. Now, Ringo decided that John was too busy with his feelings with Paul to deal with Ringo and his desperation.

But Ringo still did everything John wanted him to. If John needed something, Ringo was always the first one to get it for him. If John had an idea for something new, Ringo was always backing him up on it. Ringo was always there for John, was always pampering him, and this was the fucking thanks he got. John might’ve been the love of Ringo’s life, but he was also a huge asshole.

George must’ve noticed that Ringo was looking at him, because his eyes adverted from John and Paul to Ringo. Ringo gave him a small smile, and George returned the gesture. Ringo was relieved. He had his best friend back, somewhat. He was halfway back to an ease of mind.

Once the interview was over, the Beatles piled up in their car. John and Paul squeezed together, even though there was plenty of fucking space for each one to have their own area. Fucking bastards, they were.

Ringo caught himself staring at John, who was chatting with Paul. John looked so happy, and Ringo knew it was selfish of him to want John to leave something that made him so happy.

He suddenly felt George lean toward him. George whispered to him, “I’m sorry for saying John will never want you, but you have to realize that you’ll never be with him. He and Paul are soul mates, and you can’t mess with fate like that. You’re never going to have him.”

George patted Ringo’s shoulder, and leaned back against the door of the car. He wanted to scream at George, tell him that  _No_ ,  _John and Paul aren’t soul mates! John is mine and you don’t know anything about love you’re just a sad little twat that’s trying to bring me down with you!_

But Ringo knew that George was right. George was always right.

“I know,” Ringo said.

-

“Do you think they know we know?”

They were back in the studio, and they were actually starting to get some work done. John and Paul had toned it down, just like George had said they would, to heart eyes across the room and flirting during breaks. They were having a break when George had asked the question.

“I think that Paul does, at least.”

Ringo had that thought that both John and Paul believe that they were clever and sneaky enough to hide it from the rest of them, but then Ringo began to see the signs. Whenever Paul noticed that Ringo was looking, he’d get closer to John and shift his flirting into maximum overdrive. And, whenever Ringo wasn’t looking, Paul would make some strange noise or say  _Oh, John, stop_ in that stupid voice of his. Paul knew that Ringo liked John and he was playing fucking stupid but Ringo  _knew._  Paul was a little bitch and he knew exactly what he was doing to Ringo and he didn’t give a damn.

“What makes you think that?” George asked, sitting next to Ringo on the dirty old sofa they kept in the studio.

“Well, you know, Paul’s always been very observant,” Ringo said, and it wasn’t exactly a lie.

“Oh, and John is absolutely oblivious to it all. Come on, Richie, you know he’s much cleverer than that.”

Yes, John was clever, but he was also extremely stupid at times. John Lennon was so fucking full of himself and thought that he was smart enough to trick everyone into thinking that he was so fucking straight and that he was basically the God of straight men and that he fucked seventeen women each night. Yes, John thought he had it all worked out, and that if he kept that silly reputation up, people would think nothing of how he looked at Paul with that stupid gaze of his. No, one would figure it out.

But everyone saw through that façade. John Lennon might have been a genius in every sense of the word, but he was also stone cold stupid.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Ringo said.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” George asked. “Because if you ever need anything, I’m right here.”

Ringo felt George’s hand on his knee and Ringo looked at George. George was chewing his lower lip with his little sharp tooth. Ringo had always noticed how fucking sharp that thing was and one or twice he wondered how it would feel on his lips and tongue, but those thoughts never lasted very long because he didn’t  _like_ George like that. George was his mate.

“Uh, yeah,” Ringo said. “I’m fine. Thank you, though.”

George gave him a little nod and removed his hand.

God, George was weird.

-

This was it. Ringo couldn’t take it anymore. This jealousy was eating him away from the inside and slowing ripping him at the seams. He  _had_ to talk to John.

Ringo had thought about admitting his feelings to John for a while, even before the whole JohnandPaul thing had even started. But now there was no other choice. If Ringo didn’t tell him, he’d never be able to live with the constant ache of not knowing how John felt about him. Ringo knew not to set his expectation high, but there was still that glimmer of hope that maybe,  _maybe_ John felt the same way.

Though it was very unlikely, because if John liked Ringo the way Ringo liked John, he wouldn’t even consider Paul.

Ringo picked up the phone and dialed John’s number. It rang a few times, and Ringo could feel his heart beating in his chest. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. It’d rang five times, and Ringo decided that he was going to hang up and just go back to his sad, lonesome self. Anything had to be better than this waiting.

But before he could do just that, John’s voice was at the other end.

“Hello?”

His voice was sleep-rough and very sexy. Ringo immediately regretted calling, because he’d woken John up, and if there was one thing to know about John Lennon, it was that he loved his sleep.

“Um, John, it’s Ringo. Is this not a good time? I could call back later, if you’d like-“

“Oh, no,” John said, his voice slowly becoming normal. “This is fine. I needed to get off me arse, anyway. What was it that you needed to talk about?”

“Um, well,” Ringo said, unsure of how to word it.  _John, I’ve been in love with you for four years now and I want you to love me back. Please, please love me. Leave Paul and love me._ “I’ve noticed that you-“

“Oh, hold that thought,” John interrupted, again. Ringo could hear him place his hand over the phone. “Paul? Could you get the kettle started? I’d like some morning tea! Thank you, love!” John went back to speaking to Ringo. “Okay, go on.”

Paul was at John’s house. In John’s  _home,_ where John had a wife and a son and this whole other world that the band had never been a part of, but fucking Paul was there.  _Goddammit,_ Paul was weaseling his way into everything. Of course Ringo couldn’t hold a serious fucking conversation with John now that that doe-eyed demon was there.

“Oh, it’s nothing really,” Ringo said, tugging at the ends of his hair.

“You said that you’ve noticed something about me,” John said. “What was it?”

“Er,” Ringo said. There was no way out of this. Once John found out that the conversation was centered on him, there was no backing out of it. “I’ve noticed that you and Paul-“

“If this is about you thinking that we’re fucking, the answer is yes.”

“John!” Ringo heard Paul shout in the back. “I thought we said we wouldn’t tell anyone! You dick!”

“Oi, Paul,” John said. “It’s only Ringo. Ringo’s our friend, he won’t tell anybody. Will you, Ringo?”

Ringo couldn’t speak. Of course, he’d known John and Paul were together, but to hear it come from John’s lips – Ringo couldn’t handle it.

_It’s only Ringo._

Ringo knew that John didn’t mean anything by it, but Ringo knew that he would always be  _only Ringo_ to John. John had Paul and Paul was exactly what John wanted. Paul would never be  _only Paul_ , would he?

A white hot rage went through Ringo. He gripped the phone tighter in his hand and shouted, “No, I won’t tell anyone! It’s not like everyone already fucking knows! You couldn’t make it any more obvious! Everyone knows you’re a bunch of bloody queers!”

He slammed the phone onto the holder and kicked the wall. His boot-clad foot went through the wall, but in his fit of rage he simply pulled it out and kicked another hole right next to the first one.

How could they fucking do this? How could they willingly just throw the fucking band away for some shitty little affair that probably wouldn’t last very fucking long?  _Goddammit_.

He went through the house throwing things and cursing at the top of his lungs.

“Fucking John! That bloody bastard! What a dick!” Ringo shouted, kicking the table. It cracked through the middle and Ringo thought about making a stupid analogy about his heart, but fuck it. He would not let John Lennon stoop him to such levels. Fuck John. Fuck Paul. Fuck everyone. The only one who actually gave a fuck about him was George, and Ringo had been a dick to him lately.  _God,_ no wonder John didn’t want him. He was  _horrid_.

Ringo could hear the phone ring. It was probably John, and Ringo would rather gut himself than talk to that piece of shit. Ringo sauntered to the phone, and then threw it against the wall. It shattered, and Ringo exhaled through his nose. That took care of that. All he had to do now was lie down on the couch and die.

Ringo sat down on the couch and propped his elbows on his knees, rested his forehead in his hands, and let himself cry. Anger was still coursing through him, but Ringo decided that the way he was going about dealing with it was all wrong. He just needed to cry it out. He knew that later he would regret shedding any tears over John, but right now, this is what he needed.

Ringo wasn’t sure how long he sat there, but he was taken out of his bubble by two hands on his shoulders. Ringo looked up and saw a blurry figure. At first glance, he thought it was John, and was terrified. John would kill him for calling him a queer, and this was it. John was going to kill him and cut off his head and take it home as a trophy for Paul.

But then the hands moved to his eyes and wiped his tears away. He realized that it was –he almost said _only_ but George was not  _only George_ , George was important- George, a sad smile on his face.

“Hello, Ringo,” George said, pushing Ringo’s hair back. “I see you’re upset and you’re not answering my phone calls. This wouldn’t happen to pertain to  _John,_ would it?”

Ringo’s lip wobbled. He wanted to scream at George for having such a goddamn condescending voice at a time like this. This was not the moment for George’s sick humor. But there was a lump in his throat and if he opened his mouth, it would slip out, bringing more sobs and incoherent babbling that would probably take a horrible turn somewhere, so Ringo just nodded his head.

“Oh, Ringo,” George said softly. George sat down on the couch and pulled Ringo’s head into his chest. Ringo wrapped himself around George and pressed into his skin. Ringo had never been this physically closed to George, but now that he was, he noticed how  _warm_ George was. Ringo snuggled into him, and George wrapped an arm around Ringo’s back. “What’s happened?”

“I was gonna tell ‘im, George,” Ringo said, sobs coming out with his words. “I was gonna tell ‘im that I love ‘im, but Paul was at John’s  _house_  and I couldn’t, George, I couldn’t-“

“It’s alright, Ringo. Just calm down. You don’t have to tell me anything right now. Just rest,” George said and ran his fingers through Ringo’s hair. Ringo sighed and inhaled deeply, taking in George’s smell. He smelled like old smoke and soap and the crisp smell of heat. Ringo squeezed George’s waist tighter. He felt George’s mouth pressed against his hair, and that little bit of affection gave him the strength to talk.

“I broke the phone … thought John was calling … sorry.”

That was a good enough sentence for George, considering he whispered into Ringo’s hair, “John called me. He said you were going mad over him and Paul being together. I don’t think he knows  _why_ , though.”

There was a semi-comfortable silence, with Ringo’s hot breath hitting him in the face as he pressed himself into George and George’s lips on his hair. Ringo didn’t want to think about when or how he would face John and Paul, but he couldn’t help it. He’d fucked up big time, and there was nothing he could do that could possibly give John a reason to forgive him. Paul, as well.

“They hate me now.”

“Oh, Ringo,” George said, and pulled Ringo from his shoulder. He sat Ringo down, cross-legged and sideways on the couch. George sat the same way, facing Ringo. Ringo noticed that there was glossiness to George’s eyes. “They don’t hate you. They’re probably upset, yeah, but I doubt they hate you.”

“You probably hate me, too. I’ve been an awful friend, haven’t I?” Ringo said, playing with a loose thread on the couch. “I’ve been a total dickhead toward you.”

“Listen to me, and listen hard,” George said, his voice stern. Ringo looked away from the thread and directly into George’s eyes. They were hard, and Ringo couldn’t look away. “I will never hate you. Ever. Even if you beat me to a pulp and leave me to die, I’ll always love you.”

Ringo didn’t know what possessed him to do so, but he leaned forward and pressed his mouth gently against George’s. For some reason, he felt that that was the right thing to do. George was being so kind to him, even told Ringo that he loved him, and Ringo couldn’t think of any other way to thank him.

The kiss wasn’t romantic or messy or sexy or passionate or any of those other words Ringo had read in books. It was just a kiss. Just gentle lip-to-lip contact. But, it did make Ringo feel a bit better. More ease of mind.

Ringo pulled away, leaving one small peck on George’s lips. Ringo examined George’s face, looking for any signs of, well, anything. There another silence, until George broke it.

“You kissed me.”

“Yes, I did.”

Ringo wasn’t sure if that’s where they should leave off with that conversation. Should Ringo explain  _why_  he kissed George? George didn’t seem to care. In fact, George didn’t seem fazed by it at all. There was a little glint in his eye, though. Ringo seemed to be noticing a lot of things about George’s eyes lately.

“Why?” George asked. There it was. The explaining that George wanted but Ringo didn’t have.

“I don’t know.”

“You kissed me for no reason?” George said, sitting up straighter. He leaned toward Ringo a little, as if there was a small gravitational pull between them.

“Uh, yeah, I guess so.”

“Do it again?” George asked. It was a question, not a command, and it came out with a whine.

Ringo nodded, his mouth suddenly dry. He thought about how George’s lips felt on his. They were soft, but a bit rougher than a bird. George was actually the first man he had kissed, and Ringo wanted  _more._  If George’s body was warm, his lips were fire and Ringo was stuck in a blizzard.

George licked his lips. “Come on, then.”

Ringo smiled, but he quickly wiped it away. If he was going to do it, he was going to do it right. He pulled himself onto his knees and crawled over to George. He ran his fingers through George’s hair and pulled at the strands gently. George took a deep breath. Ringo leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss on George’s lips.

“George,” Ringo croaked. “I-“

“Don’t talk. Just kiss me,” George said. “Please.”

There was so much Ringo wanted to say to George.  _I’m not doing this because I’m heartbroken. I’m not using you. You’re lips are chapped in the hottest way. You smell divine. Please know that I’m not doing this out of self-pity. I_ want _to kiss you._

But Ringo knew better than to keep George Harrison waiting. Ringo placed a hand on the back of George’s neck and pulled George to his lips.

George gripped the back of Ringo’s shirt and pulled him closer. Ringo pressed his lips harder into George’s and nibbled at George’s lower lip. George parted his lips slightly, and Ringo slipped his tongue inside. George groaned lightly and ran his hands down Ringo’s back and tucked his fingertips into the top of Ringo’s jeans.

Ringo felt George move around a bit, until his legs were wrapped around Ringo’s waist. The position was awkward, but it gave Ringo a bit of reassurance that  _yes, this is okay._ Ringo pulled away from George’s mouth, and before George could protest, Ringo wrapped one of his arms around George’s back and pulled him down so he was lying flat on his back.

“Better?” Ringo asked, running his hands over George’s chest.

“Yeah,” George said and smiled. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long.”

So, they did. They kissed there on that couch until the clothes began to melt off their skin and they kept kissing as they rutted into each other’s hips and when it was all over, when they’d come down from their high and were breathing hard, they managed sloppy, lazy kisses that weren’t much, but it was enough.

Once Ringo had calmed down, he realized the position they were in. He had a hand around George’s waist and his cheek was resting on George’s chest. George’s breathing was slow, like he was almost asleep, so Ringo decided to say as much as he could before George went out.

“I didn’t do this out of self-pity, you know,” Ringo said, swirling a finger around George’s belly button. “I didn’t do this because of John.”

“Do not mention John Lennon to me after an orgasm induced by his number one fan,” George said, chuckling. “It’s alright, Ringo. I understand.”

“No, you don’t,” Ringo said. “I did because I wanted to. I wanted to kiss you, that’s why I did it. I wanted this, okay? Please know this.”

“I know,” George said, running his fingers through Ringo’s hair. “And I know that when you see John again, you’ll forget about all this and be back on him.”

“What makes you think that?”

“I’m not stupid,” George said. “You give him those stupid moon eyes and basically kiss his arse, no offense, and he doesn’t pay a bit of attention to ye’, and but you keep doing it. Here I am, giving you all the love and affection in the world, and you don’t even bat an eye in my direction. That’s just how it is, and that’s okay. I’m used to it.”

“No, it’s going to be different,” Ringo said. “I promise. You’ll see; next time I see John, I’ll treat him just like a normal mate.”

“Alright,” George said, but he sounded doubtful. Then, he was asleep.

“I promise it’ll be different,” Ringo said, kissing George’s chest. “It’ll be different.”

-

For a while, it was different. Ringo was all over George in the studio (not obvious enough for people to notice like John and Paul were), touches lingering, smiles exchanged, and conversations going on for hours. John was basically nonexistent – well, that wasn’t true. Ringo had to explain to John what had happened over the phone.

“Just missing Mo, I suppose. It’s hard being without companionship and I just got jealous,” Ringo had said.

“Well, don’t fucking take it on and me and Paul! You’re lucky I don’t bash yer fucking face in!”

Ringo was willing to accept that.

Things were how they were supposed to be; John and Paul; George and Ringo.

It went on that way for a month, but then something happened. There was a shift in the solar system or _something_ because, one day, John asked Ringo to his house. Ringo took up the offer, thinking it was business or something. He’d even told George, saying he’d be at George’s place by ten o’clock. George had kissed him and told him that he trusted him.

Once John and Ringo were sitting in John’s living room and Cynthia and Julian had gone, things started getting weird.

“So, Ringo,” John said, sipping his tea. “You like me.”

“Who told that bullshit?” Ringo said.

“A little birdy told me so,” John said, winking. “Is it true, though?”

Ringo doubted that anyone had told such a thing, but Ringo couldn’t help but feel nervous that someone else knew his secret.

“No,” Ringo said confidently, because, honestly, he was getting over John. He had George now, and what they had was great. Ringo would almost go far enough to say he  _loved_ George. “Whoever told you that is full of shite.”

“Liar,” John said, his voice raising. “I know you like me, and now you’re lying to my face! People don’t lie to people they care about, Richie!”

“I don’t care about you, you twat!” Ringo shouted, jumping from his seat. “I hate you, if you must know! I spend four years on wanting you to like me and you don’t fucking notice but now that I have someone who cares about me, you want to ruin everything! Can’t you just let me be happy, you son of a bitch!”

Ringo took his tea and splashed it onto John’s shirt, causing John to jolt up and wipe at his chest.

“What the fuck?” John shouted, throwing Ringo to the floor. “You’re fucking insane, you know that?”

“I know!” Ringo said, standing up. “I’m off me head! Ringo the funny Beatles, ‘s what they call me! I’m funny is the head is what I am, you know! Gah!”

“Ringo, calm down,” John said, slowly.

“NO!” Ringo shouted. “I will not calm down! Fuck you, Lennon! FUCK YOU! I loved you, dammit, I fucking loved you but I’m done! I’m in love with George now, and you’re not going to ruin that.”

Then, suddenly, John had him against the wall, kissing him. Ringo tried to push away, but John (and Ringo’s want) was too strong, so he gave in and began to kiss back.

They fucked  _hard_. It was a screaming, groaning, moaning, hissing, writhing fuck that still made Ringo hard when he thought about it. Ringo had never been so turned on, and he didn’t think about his actions until he was leaving at 1:30 am.

He had just  _cheated_ on George, with  _John_ , who he swore to himself that he would give up on. When he got home, George was on his doorstep.

“How long have you been here?” Ringo said, staring down at him.

“Long enough to know,” George said, sighing. George didn’t seem surprised, and that made Ringo hurt. George  _knew_ Ringo was going to cheat. What kind of relationship was that?

“George, it’s not like that,” Ringo said as George stood up. “I love you.”

“I know you do,” George said, placing a hand on Ringo’s shoulder. “I love you, too, but I saw this coming, Richie. You’re never going to get over John, just like I said. That’s okay, though. I would never try to take you away from something you really want.”

Ringo was crying now. “But, I want  _you_ ,” he said.

George looked at him sadly and shook his head. He gave Ringo one last kiss, and it was horrible. Ringo was crying, and George didn’t really mean it. George pulled away, and then left. Just like that.

Ringo went inside and looked at his cracked table. This time, he let the analogy happen;

George had broken his heart even worse than Ringo had broken the table.

Ringo curled up under his blanket and let himself cry, and eventually sleep.

When he woke up the next day, it was back to the studio. Ringo knew he had to go. He had to put the band before himself. So he manned up and went into work.

Everything was back to normal. George was by himself in the corner; John and Paul were cuddled up; Ringo was by himself in a different corner, watching the other three. John and Paul were happy, George was, well, George as usual, and well, what was up with Ringo?

Ringo had no idea how to feel. He loved George, but he  _wanted_ John. God, he was so stupid. He’d ruined his relationship with George Harrison for a quickie with John Lennon. He was a sick, sick man.

The week went by quickly, with Ringo barely saying a word. He was only a backbeat in the big picture of THE BEATLES, and basically nothing to  _the beatles._

The next Monday, when Ringo arrived at Abbey Road, George was at his drum kit, fiddling around.

“George,” Ringo said, standing next to him. Ringo thought that maybe this was it. Maybe George was ready to accept his apology and everything would be back to normal.

“Yeah, Ringo, I’d like to ask you something,” George said.  _Oh God, here it comes_. “What type of wood are your drumsticks made out of?”

“What?” Ringo asked.

“I was watching this group the other day, and the drummer’s drumsticks were made of maple, and they sounded amazing,” George said, holding Ringo’s drumsticks. “I mean, they were incredible! What kind do you use?”

“Oak,” Ringo said dryly.

“Maybe for the next record, you could pick up some maple sticks,” George said, and then he went back to his usual spot on the sofa and plucked at the guitar.

Then Ringo knew. It was never going to work out between the two of them. George knew it in the beginning, and Ringo had gone and truly fucked up. George barely even looked him in the eye! They’d been together for a month, and George didn’t even act like he cared! Because, Ringo knew, George  _didn’t_ care. George was so used to being rejected by Ringo to be with John that George was one hundred percent okay with going back to that routine.

Ringo then realized that it was his fault that George felt that way, and there was nothing he could do to change that.

So, Ringo sat down at his drums and tapped at his snare drum and decided that it was best to be alone, and not just in that moment. Ringo needed to be forever alone, because everyone he loved, he hurt.

And, from then on, straight up until 1969, John and Paul were in love (except when they weren’t), and George and Ringo were just George and Ringo. And, Ringo knew that was how it was supposed to be.


End file.
